by Ruby Liles
A comprehensive review of SMES’ most controversial post-chapel snack: the Bosco stick.
Bosco sticks. I’m confident those two words either just incited salivation or nausea deep within your soul. Evidently, like so many other hot button issues that plague the present political atmosphere, you can only be with or against the sticks, and, as Deputy Governor Danforth from “The Crucible” says, there will be no road between. Though they may not agree, the people of this school are, in a word, passionate about Bosco sticks, whether in their support or vehement opposition.
The sticks themselves are basic in construction. With its outer layer of magnificently buttered bread surrounding its core of molten mozzarella, Bosco sticks have become the secret weapon of cafeterias nationally. The architecture of a Bosco stick is comprised entirely of the most universally accepted flavors known to the human palette — bread and cheese. Virtually no one (with the exception of those unfortunate souls battling lactose or gluten) should find the sticks displeasing; however, when polled, only 47% of the junior class said they find them appetizing. The journalist and Bosc-aficionado in me has but one question for the masses of St. Mary’s: why?
I, myself a lover of the sticks, could not fathom a single problem worthy of losing my support, so I consulted the opposition. Eesha Gudiseva (11), a one-time consumer of a $100 lobster tail and thus self proclaimed “foodie,” said, “They are not good. They taste like greasy Kraft cheese inside a stale, very crusty sponge. Disgusting. I bought one last year and tried to return it.”
Evidently, Gudiseva’s outlook is bleak. I wondered if her deep-seated hatred stemmed not from the quality of the sticks themselves, but as a byproduct from a dislike towards cafeteria food on the whole. But I soon learned that many, like Eesha, choose to eschew the carbolicious snack in favor of some other ALAPP delicacy — it seems the lines between Team Bosco and Team Scone are deeply and firmly drawn.
“Scones are just more yummy,” said Lily Beasley (11), no stranger to Flik’s famous scones. “I feel like the cheese in Bosco sticks has been refrigerated for a really long time.” Celia Stem added, “A cinnamon apple scone brightens up every single day. My life gets 1000 times better when I get that scone. But my mom gets 1000 times more annoyed when she sees that I’ve spent all my Flik money on scones!”
Though they fundamentally disagree, scone and stick lovers alike do come together over one thing: Sundays are not our Sabbath — nay, they are weekdays at 10:15am, as Ms. Tori presents us now our daily bread, whether filled with cheese or baked fruit. With the $3.75 remaining in my Flik account, I’ve approximated that I can afford but 1.8 more Bosco sticks. This gloomy statistic saddens me, and I rue the day my taste buds experience the Bosco stick for the last time. I can’t possibly imagine the day my memory surrenders the sight of the white and red paper bag displaying that young man with his hat nonchalantly on backwards. I pray I never forget the feeling of the warmth from within the bag thawing my cold, dead, sleep-deprived fingers.
Thank you Bosco, wherever you are, whoever you are. I honor you.